I’m not sure Mrs. Bean actually talked to Trey, but we don’t live in a big town and everyone kinda knows everyone at Fremont High.

She tilts her head to the side in a sympathetic gesture. “You dated him for a long time.”

I nod. I’m not telling her the truth, that we’d broken up and he’d been cheating on me while doing drugs.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks. “I’m here to listen, to give advice, or just to be a shoulder to cry on.”

The last thing I want to do right now is talk, especially to the school social worker. If I wanted to talk, I’d call Ashtyn. But I can’t tell her the truth, either. And I haven’t told anyone about the pictures of Trey and Zara I found hidden behind Trey’s corkboard.

“Can I just go to class, Mrs. Bean?”

She sighs. I think she’s going to insist I say something, anything, but instead she pushes her chair out and stands. “The barrage of feelings you’re going through is a normal and natural part of the grieving process, Monika. You just lost your boyfriend. Every day will get a little easier. Trust me.”

“I hope so. Thanks for caring, Mrs. Bean,” I say.

I’m about to leave when she holds out a leaflet. “Here,” she says, putting it into my hand. “It outlines the stages of grief. Just read it over, Monika. Just so you know that you’re not alone.”

I step out of her office and walk through the halls feeling like a zombie, just moving my legs without a purpose or goal. I’m just numb right now. I glance down at the leaflet. Numb is not one of the stages of grief. Maybe I am alone in this.

Maybe I’ll always be alone.

I wish I could talk to Trey, to tell him that keeping his secrets are pulling me under. Everyone is talking about what a role model he was, how much he was looked up to, and how perfect he was.

But he wasn’t perfect.

It seems like the more flawless Trey is perceived to be, the more people are trashing Vic. Angel versus devil.

I hang my head and stare at the floor, because it’s easier than looking people in the eye.

At the end of the day, I open my locker and see a folded-up piece of paper that must have fallen on the bottom shelf. I open it up and read it.

Tell my brother I miss him

~ Marissa

Chapter Twenty-nine

VICTOR

I don’t know how many days I’ve been living at Isa’s. I’m doing my best to sleep through life and ignore everything and everyone around me.

It’s nighttime again. I know it because light isn’t shining through the windows.

“You gonna finally get your ass up?” Isa asks as she studies herself in the small mirror hanging on the wall in the living room.

“Nah.”

She turns around. “Yo, Vic, snap out of it. I mean, seriously, get over it. You think Trey would want you to give up on life? It’s disrespectful to his memory, actually. He’d want you to live your life like a fuckin’ baller and get back to work.”

“Workin’ here is livin’ life?” I ask her.

“For sure. Workin’ here gives me purpose.”

“Fuck that,” I groan.

She shrugs. “This might not be the best gig you’ll ever have, but it beats lyin’ in a dark room twenty-four seven wearin’ the same dirty clothes for a week.”

I look down at my dirty shirt and jeans. “I like these clothes.”

“Whatever, Vic. Just think about helpin’ me and Monika out. One thing I’ve learned throughout the years is that regrets suck.”

“Thanks for the advice.”

“You’re welcome. I’m going to babysit Alex and Brittany’s kids tonight, so I’ll be home late. Not that you’ll notice.”

Isa leaves the apartment, mumbling more of her bullshit about moving on.

I turn my back to her and close my eyes, hoping I can sleep.

I can’t. Dammit, this sucks. I hate being alone with my thoughts, so I sleep. The problem is I’ve been sleeping so much my body is retaliating.

I need to run, to get so exhausted that I collapse on the couch.

I walk downstairs and through the body shop, glad Isa isn’t around. I don’t know where I’m headed. I just need to clear my head and run through town.

I run to the high school and back, watchful of my surroundings in this shitty town.

When I get back to Enrique’s all sweaty and ready to pass out, I notice a girl standing in the parking lot. She’s wearing a black hoodie that covers half her face.

It hits me when I see long, thick hair sticking out of the hoodie, and those full lips that I could recognize in the daytime just as much as in partial darkness.